


One Foot in the Grave

by samiraxlula



Series: Unearthing What is True [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bruce Wayne Has Feelings, Gen, Grave Robbers, Identity Reveal, Jason Todd and Damian Wayne Meet in the League of Assassins, Jason Todd is Not Red Hood, League of Assassins Jason Todd, Leviathan Organization (DCU), Pre-New 52, Protective Talia al Ghul, Queen Talia al Ghul, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Talia al Ghul is the Demon's Head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25047856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samiraxlula/pseuds/samiraxlula
Summary: Dying can be the birth of something new and awful, to make the worst of the living wish they weren't. But what happens when you steal from the dead?
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Jason Todd
Series: Unearthing What is True [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866892
Comments: 49
Kudos: 253





	1. Being Laid to Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set during the comic modern age (Pre-New 52) and follows most of the canon timeline up to and with the exception of Batman: Hush, War Games, and Under the Hood. Some minor changes were also made to Batman: Death and the Maidens.

_Six years earlier..._

Gold and brown autumn leaves rustled through the cemetery along with the dripping rain and ever-present wind. The dead, bony branches of the trees keeping watch over the graves were furiously swaying, their tops waving like wild dancers in the night sky.

The sound of a spade being dragged along the well-worn cobblestone paths that wound through the grass and into the labyrinth of headstones could be heard before a rather lanky man reached his destination with a disturbing cackle of victory. 

A tall, stony angel that symbolically guarded the grave it presided over seemed to weep as the rain trickled down it’s sculpted face, the spade piercing the cold ground and shovelling away mounds of dirt. 

The man himself didn’t seem to mind the smell of decomposition and the putrid smell of death that grew as he continued to sift wet soil until at last he exposed the dirt-covered coffin.

It was a beautiful piece of hand-crafted work, done by one of the greatest woodworking designers in Europe and a testament to the wealth of those who had heart-wrenchingly buried the small coffin. 

Not that such a fact would have stopped the man from lifting the lid of the pine box and looking down into the shadowed recesses of the casket. He didn’t even need a flashlight as he laughed away, removing the skull from the rest of the body with a loud cracking sound of separation. 

Thunder rumbled in the background of the cityscape as pasty white hands reached up to crawl back out of the hole he had dug, bringing along the bones he carried in a black bag as lightning struck close enough to illuminate the name etched into the stone of the marker.

Jason Todd - Rest in Peace.

*

_Four days earlier..._

A land cruiser sped over a rugged mountain road, past rocky slopes devoid of human habitation and only dotted with scraggly patches of sparse greenery across its barren grey hills. 

The cruiser had the road all to itself as it raced to make its rendezvous before the sun went down, bouncing over the rough terrain beneath a gloomy, overcast sky that was almost the same grey colour as the hills.

Waiting for them at the top of the mountain path, where a camp filled with grim-faced men armed with automatic weapons watchfully guarded the hidden location, a male figure stood expectantly who, despite his red mask, appeared to only be in his early twenties.

“Boss.” The two men greeted respectfully as they pulled their prisoner from the rear of the cruiser, a silent figure with a hood over his head and a pair of cuffs around his wrists. 

“Nice of you to join us, Doctor Dedalus.” The masked figure laughed as the hood was pulled off the hostage. “Or should I just call you by your real name?”

“You _imbecile!_ ” The elderly man, who had long lost his wide-brimmed hat and insect-eye goggles, growled at the group’s commander. “This is no way to treat a man of intellect such as myself.” 

“Ha. I knew someone much younger who also liked that choice of insult.”

“No one can escape the web of Netz!”

“Very clever bilingual wordplay.” Though unseen from behind the red disguise, the younger man rolled his eyes at the German.

As the sun began to descend over the remote mountaintops, the sky bleeding red with the sunset, it was then that the wizened old man made the connection to the deep crimson, white and black patch on the soldiers’ shoulders. 

“Well, I suppose if anyone was to take down my organization, Leviathan would be a fitting opponent to have.”

“Opponent? I don’t know if I’d go that far to label our relationship. I consider you more as a simple speed bump on the road to a greater scheme.” 

Pulling out a semiautomatic pistol from beneath his jacket, he placed the muzzle against the doctor’s head before cocking the weapon. “Though I think that road has come to an end now.”

The sharp report of the gun firing ended the life of the Spyral mastermind and brought to a close their organization which Leviathan had already completely dismantled, another step closer in its goal of eradicating the many shadow organizations around the world and replacing them with their own controlled versions.

Two of his militiamen immediately dragged the lifeless body away into the Patagonian desert while the commander ticked off the task from his mental checklist, glad to have gotten rid of the former Nazi.

“Señor Jason?”

Looking down to see the Mapuche child tugging his pant leg, Jason bent down to hear what she had to say as she attempted a slow English that had something of a difficult intonation, so he kindly beckoned for her to speak more comfortably in her native Argentinian Spanish.

< There’s a messenger here for you. >

< Alright. Thanks, kid. >

The sky had grown dark and a dry, harsh wind was blowing through the camp by the time Jason had lifted the grey tent flap to reveal the assassin waiting for him inside with the information she had made the trip to tell.

“I hope you brought me some reliable intel this time, Jade.”

“Seems it took you longer than expected to finish off Spyral, hm?” Jade Nguyen—better known as Cheshire—shot back with a coy smirk, blowing on her poisonous nails after she finished sharpening them with a file.

“You don’t see me commenting on your parenting skills with Lian.” He fired back quickly at one of her too few weak points.

“Do _not_ speak of her.” 

The half-Vietnamese woman glared upwards from her hands, losing her playful tone with the man who had once trained beside her in the League. While they normally carried themselves with sarcastic banter, there were limits in what she allowed to be made a jest, especially where it concerned her daughter.

“Relax, Chesh. You know I don’t go after kids.” Nodding at the file set down next to her, Jason sat on the edge of his cot. “What’ve you got?”

“One of the Gotham operatives sent word of an auction going down in a few days. I thought you might find one of the items interesting.”

Taking the file, Jason couldn’t help but frown before he even opened it to see the contents. He had no interest in the city of his birth nor the people in it and thus had zero plans of ever returning. There was simply nothing to gain from getting caught up in imaginary nostalgia or vendettas.

However, when he did finally open the file, the images he was met with made him immediately look back at the assassin, face grim and appearing vaguely sick.

“It’s a fake.” Jason scowled away from the insult the images presented, though his voice was flat. “My head is clearly very much attached to my spine.”

“Of course it's a fake,” Jade placatingly made cooing sounds at him. “However, need I remind us all yet again that your entire life and resurrection is a big fat mystery that not even the old Head could crack despite his constant attempts.”

Both doubt and mistrust grew within Jason every passing moment, even if he tried to deny the gravitational pull he felt towards the item in the pictures.

Standing up and crossing his arms in hopes of shaking the feeling, he knew that he couldn’t simply ignore this like so many of the other times when it came to the hell-hole that he once called home.

He needed to confirm the authenticity himself.


	2. Brought Peace You Thought

_Two days earlier…_

Inside a penthouse room that overviewed the architecturally intriguing Gotham skyline, a television was flipped on to fill the silence and continue diverting Jason’s mind from the depressive slump he found himself slipping into.

It was a morning talk show that lured his ears’ attention, listening to the hosts chat about Oliver Queen’s recent election win as the new mayor of Starling City while he shaved at the sink.

He found it funny, thinking back to how he remembered the blond archer’s personality being.

Washing the remains of shaving cream from his face and reaching for a towel to dry with, the twenty-one year old pulled on a pair of trousers and left the bathroom to switch off the television, the room becoming silent once more for a few short seconds before a bright red portal opened up.

“ _Nice digs..._ ” A long-haired man walked through the portal while nodding appreciatively with a hand dripping of blood. “I see you’ve finally given up on those low-rent hideaways, boss.”

“Talia was starting to get annoyed with them too.” Jason shrugged as he settled into an armchair next to a wall-mounted sword holder carrying a number of katanas and threw the towel over his bare shoulder.

This particular safe-house was one of the very few in Gotham under his organization that even Oracle had not tagged yet, despite her ever-watchful reach over the city he was born and raised in.

It was rather luxurious and filled with many fixtures and extras that Talia had seen fit to furnish with despite the fact that he didn’t even need or would rarely use eighty percent of them, originally having had no interest in returning to the crime-ridden gothic city.

But ever since she had come to visit him one day at a Hong Kong ‘safe pad’ he was staying in while routinely killing off most of the city’s triad members, she had looked around in utter disgust before dragging him down to the shopping district, where she spent the whole outing explaining with great emphasis as to why he should not be using a thirty-year-old couch that someone may have died on.

_“And explain to me why I found cocaine in your closet?”_

_“It’s evidence!” He struggled to contain himself from becoming frazzled with the scene it was becoming. “I don’t do drugs, I just control the market!”_

_“Mhmm.” Talia gave him an incredibly unimpressed look._

The Gotham skyline was bleak and smoggy and looked as if the city of stone and spires was smouldering even in the waking sunlight that bled into the penthouse and onto the Leviathan leader.

“So, what’s the situation, Bloodmage?”

“Boss,” The man looked offended as he wrapped his bleeding hand in a bandage. “You know I gave up the whole ludicrous codename thing.”

“I know.” The corner of Jason’s mouth turned upwards into a smirk, leaning back into the armrests as he antagonized the magic-using assassin. 

Though he freely engaged in banter with all his operatives, their respect and loyalty towards him was no different from the silent killers that pledged themselves to Talia and formerly Ra’s, if only less fervent in devotion. As long as everyone did what he required of them, he respected their autonomy and they his leadership in return. 

“We’ve sourced the original informant and he’s been made more...willing to speak with you.” As he tied off the bandage wrap, Jason could tell he had a lot of fun with making that happen.

“The meeting’s been set up in Otisburg for tonight.”

“Sounds good.”

As the mage disappeared once more through a similar portal sometime later after leaving the details of the arrangement, Jason slumped some into the armchair and turned his head to just watch the sun rise higher in the city outside.

Coming back after all these years felt like returning to the scene of a crime. Although he knew that it was like any other crime-ridden city—with people trying to get through every day as best they could—there were so many memories attached to its streets, and few he recalled fondly.

Streets he used to sleep in and then later protect alongside a Dark Knight he once trusted and thought of as a father.

There was a reason he hadn’t ever wanted to come back.

The sound of a phone ringing thankfully shook him out of his thoughts enough to pick it up and slid upwards to accept the call, knowing full well who would be on the other end as there weren’t many people who should even know of his existence, let alone location at any given time.

“I expect an explanation for leaving your post.” The Demon’s Head didn’t even bother with greetings or polite pleasantries and cut straight to the issue. 

“I have placed a great deal of trust in you by giving you control over Leviathan, Jason.”

 _And who better to run a secret organization than a legally dead man?_ Jason hummed in his own thoughts as he listened to the woman scold him coldly, absentmindedly playing with the cord attached to one of the katana sheaths. 

When Talia had re-gathered and taken over the League of Assassins after it had been splintered into factions either supporting the dead Nyssa Raatko or the disappeared One Who is All, she had given command of her former organization to Jason. 

Seeing as the League had long lost its edge of secrecy after being brought into the knowledge of the larger hero community through the investigations of Batman, she had refashioned Leviathan in the intent that it would serve as the League’s new covert ops and had been kept a successful secret under the leadership of Jason. 

“I think you already know, T.”

“I have not heard specifics.”

“It’s…” Jason bit the inside of his cheek and he struggled to find the right words. “I just needed to know. I don’t think it’s true but I also don’t know if it’s impossible. I have to find out for myself.”

Even though he knew she couldn’t see him through the voice call, he shrugged after tripping over his difficult attempt at an honest explanation. 

There was a long pause on the other end in reply before Talia spoke in a much softer and understanding tone that was rarely heard since her days as a CEO. 

“Very well, then. You have three days to conclude your business in Gotham.” And with that she ended the call without letting him get in another word otherwise.

*

“You should crush the boy’s sternum.” 

The idle tapping of fingers against a wine glass stopped as Talia set down the phone, having ended the call she was on. 

A chilled late-night breeze came through, fluttering the sheer curtains and bringing the sound of snow blowing across mountain tops from outside.

"It would take no more than a wink for me,” The other woman’s voice carried on, arms crossed behind the listener. “Shredding the cartilage and making it fly into the protected organs. The lungs. The heart."

She motioned with a hand to punctuate her points.

“Shiva. There is a time and place for that bloodlust. I suggest you do not aim it at Jason.” Talia al Ghul rose from her seat to head out onto the balcony overlooking the compound. 

Setting the glass on the railing after another sip, the Demon’s Head paid no more attention to both the frigid temperatures and her companion who was now going on about the burden of unnecessary relations as she fell back into deep thought. 

Though he had once been solely under her care and guided by her influence, it began to seem as though Jason was starting to slip through her fingers once more after disappearing following the revelation he had received word of from one of his operatives. 

Guided through her influence, but slipped through her fingers...she couldn’t let such a thing happen again, thinking as her fingers resumed their idle tapping against her wine glass and another wind howled through.

_“Jason Todd has escaped us again it seems, daughter.”_

_In a display of his alchemic roots, the Demon’s Head placed a piece of dried material into a stone mortar and used the pestle to grind it to dust._

_“He won’t get far. I shall personally retrieve him immediately.”_

_The woman watched observantly as he poured the dust into a small brazier, struck a long wooden match, and set it aflame. A thin column of smoke rose, twisted, curled._

_“Very well. But do not think that I am unaware of your sentiments towards the boy. He takes up entirely too much of your time.” Ra’s added the last sentence with a harsh, critiquing look, his toxic green eyes ever-sharp despite the smoky air._

_“Know that I will not hesitate to send Damian away for another few months of training should you fail.”_

_“That won’t be necessary, Father. I will get it done.”_

Jason’s rash decision was as understandable to her as his anger was. To the point of being palpable even. It had been something that pulled her attention from the moment she laid eyes on him, with that energy of his that radiated from him like heat from a flame.

She would not let it extinguish.

She would save him as she always does.

While she had never previously done so with the intention of gaining something from it other than love, she had felt scorned by Damian for choosing to abandon her to live with his father just after Nyssa had been executed and she had been left to pick up the pieces of a scattered League. 

This time, she would not lose her family again to events outside of her control.


	3. ‘Till They Invaded Your Grave

_Twenty-one hours earlier..._

“Owens.”

It was one in the morning when Jason Head slid into the booth seat of O’Neil’s open-all-night diner located in the heart of the Otisburg district, pulling his dark hoodie down.

The man waiting there for him with a cup of steaming coffee was a scruffy, angry-looking, creepy killer-type guy, who'd probably been in and out of jail a dozen times or more, and maybe even spent time at Arkham.

Of course, it was hard to have a career in crime without doing at least a couple stints at Blackgate or Arkham—in fact, it was like a badge of honour in this messed-up town.

Jason had been to this diner a few times before, way back in the day with his step-mother Catherine. The grub was cheap, but it didn't exactly cater to the elite of Gotham. It was more like the kind of place you had to keep your head up at all times, and if you had any enemies, sitting facing the door was a pretty good idea. 

They didn’t say anything until after the server had taken his order for two chilli dogs and left.

“Grapevine tells me you have some information that I’d be interested in.” The rows of drinking glasses glistened in the lights behind the serving counter as Jason clasped his hands together on the table.

“About the auction, yeah.” 

Sweat droplets could be seen forming around the informant’s temple, showing that he was intimidated by having to speak personally with the head of Leviathan, but also wondering why this one underground auction out of many that took place in the city was so important.

Jason merely unclasped his hands to gesture for him to go on.

“There’s not much to know about them except that they're a group called the ‘Mirror House,’ and just sell off villain stuff to the highest bidder.” The man swallowed as Jason gauged his reaction intently. “Mostly it’s only to the top elite of Gotham with the prices they start at.” 

What Owens thankfully didn’t realize, nervous as he was already, was that Jason had walked into the diner ten times angrier than he appeared and his anger continued to bubble into an unmanageable boil as he went on talking.

At this point, Jason honestly couldn’t have cared less whether it was his skull or not in question. Even if they were just using his name to garner more bids, he felt...violated that someone could go around selling off what they were calling his bones in an auction. 

And hearing that the Joker had been the original thief of the skull—it made his hand twitch into a fist.

Damn Bruce for doing nothing. If he had just dealt with the Clown after... _none_ of this would have happened. Death should have been the one place he'd have been safe. At peace. But he couldn't even have that much.

_Fucking useless._

Though the Joker was currently locked up tighter than ever since he last escaped after an apparent tumour scare, Jason still didn't trust the whole affair. Especially considering the homicidal maniac’s track record of break-outs.

“I don’t see why that information couldn’t have been given over the phone though, Boss.”

The server brought over Jason's food before he could have replied to Owens, causing him to pause in order to politely thank them after which they left again with a nod and smile.

Calmly pulling a napkin from the metal dispenser on the table before also taking the knife strapped underneath his hoodie, Jason stabbed it into the table right between Owens’ index and middle finger while simultaneously wiping up some of the chilli that had fallen onto the table.

“It’s a bit personal, I’m afraid.” His smile was as tight as his eyes were hard, green edging its way into the blue.

Police sirens wailed in the distance a few streets away, competing with the whirr of a news chopper's rotors. Jason had earlier made sure to orchestrate a few events over in the Narrows so that the bats would be kept busy for him and his visitation could remain undetected, even though he knew the skull's existence would soon become known to them as well.

Looking out of the diner windows past the cracked pavement badly in need of repair, and upwards into the towering twists and edges of metal and stone that made up Gotham’s skyline, Jason wasn't even sure what this possible skull meant for him.

Was it stolen before he climbed out of his grave? If that were so, how could he even have two skulls? Was this even the original him or was he just copied and pasted back into life?

_Damn it all._

He glared at the black blur swinging past above them all.

*

Batman fired a grapple line across the wide street to the next building and leapt off the stone gargoyle, his cape spreading as he glided with the cold air rushing underneath and keeping him afloat. 

As he felt the wind dying and began to dip, he fired another grapple line just as his gauntlet began to vibrate, letting him know that he had an incoming call. Audio, not video. 

He knew that Dick and Cass wouldn't call—not now anyway, since they were both busy with a trafficking case in Blüdhaven, and Tim barely spoke to him anymore since Damian began living with them. So it had to be either Alfred or Oracle. 

With his hands being used to manoeuvre through the neon city nightscape, he sent the call to his ear comm. 

“Bruce, we have a problem.” The tech-altered voice of Oracle came through, and despite the modulation, he could pick up on the distress in her speech, reminding him of the neverending problems the city threw at them all.

If he were being honest, which wasn’t a comfortable thing for the Knight to do, his crusade to cleanse Gotham of its crime, corruption and overall poison seemed overwhelming at times. 

Ra's al Ghul had suggested a simple solution to him—burn it all down and start over again. That approach lurked in a corner of Batman's mind, and at times he wondered if the former leader of the League of Assassins might be right. 

No, he thought, dismissing the idea yet again as determination steeled his resolve. Gotham could be saved. Even if it took him the rest of his life. 

“There’s been rumour of an underground auction swirling around that’s supposed to take place at the Iceberg Lounge.”

“I’m waiting for the problem, Oracle.” Batman pointed out gruffly, not bothering to correct her use of his civilian name as she was normally stricter about the identity issue than he was. 

“Well, you might want to land someplace to hear it.”

He had already reached his destination by that point and had only to leap down from the rooftop and climb into the batmobile, redirecting her call with a few taps on the touchscreen as he started the vehicle. 

“Go ahead.”

“Most of the items to be auctioned off are just relics, if you could call them that, and belonged to notable criminals like Harvey Dent or Victor Fries. However, there is one item listed…”

The roar of the engine was almost imperceptible as the buildings and fallen dead leaves sped past while Batman patiently waited for Barbara to continue on hesitantly.

“Apparently it belonged to the Joker and...they claim it’s the second Robin’s skull.”

The batmobile almost swerved out of control as Batman rounded a corner, forcing him to sharply turn the steering wheel to stay on the road and not hit a homeless pedestrian before gunning the engine. 

_Compartmentalize. Control_. He had to forcibly repeat to himself.

“When?” The man managed to growl out, clenching the wheel.

Before long he was on the outskirts of town, where the landscape flattened out and the wind blew even more fiercely among bare gnarled trees older than the city itself as the indiscernible dark car zoomed past and up an abandoned service road.

“Ten p.m. tonight. I only found out this late since the auction is quite secretive about when and where they hold their events and only release the information a day or two before.”

The Bat’s cold white gaze flickered to the empty seat next to his where a young cocky, somewhat cheeky and spirited boy once sat.

He felt his anger give way to allow the gaping hollow space in his chest to present itself, misery consuming his soul all over again, raw and fresh and painful.

While Dick and Tim’s laughs were something that he’d had the privilege of hearing grow deeper and move further away, Jason’s bright childish laughter had been stolen from him just as it had begun to crack.

It was... _preventable_.

“I have Spoiler and Robin both on standby for backup.” Oracle brought him back just as the car sped into the hidden cave.

“Very well. Have them report in at eighteen hundred hours for pre-mission briefing.” Batman gritted his teeth as he leapt out of the vehicle in a single swift movement. “There’s going to be a bust tonight.”


	4. And Left you Distraught

_Five years ago..._

The quiet industrial area parking garage was dark and bleakly cold in the December night air. 

As the site was soon set to be demolished and thus had no actual vehicles parked in it, only the remains of oil slicks and dying overhead lights which cast eerie shadows among the support columns remained to be seen.

That was at least until two suited men dragged a semi-conscious and groaning boy into the garage. His head seemed to have been partially shaved at some point, as even though there was some new hair growth on his scalp, a running line of stitches could still be seen from where his skull had been cracked. 

Though the boy seemed to be incapable of cognitive speech, he started to gurgle as he came to but was otherwise blank and docile as an unmarked black van sped down the main sectioned-off ramp and turned into the dingy underground parking garage.

A very unassuming looking man in glasses and a grey coat stepped out from the back doors he pushed open, his slicked-back brown hair not moving an inch as he greeted the heavier-set boss of the two men holding the unseeing boy.

“My superiors expected him to be unharmed upon delivery.” He raised an eyebrow at the trickle of blood running down from the young teen’s head sutures.

“The kid was starting to fight with us, so we quietened him for a bit.” The mob boss shrugged as he straightened his leather gloves. “Our payment?”

The man in glasses waved for another man in the waiting black van to bring forth a metal briefcase. But just before the boss was able to accept it, he held his hand up in a ‘wait’ signal to his associate. 

“Before we exchange, I do have one last question for you, Mr. Carbone.” His monotone voice reverberated slightly off the frigid cement walls. “You did follow through with our laid-out conditions that the boy was to be kept under wraps, didn't you?”

“Only us three know of his existence.” The boss nodded, gesturing to himself and his two subordinates. 

“And your cousin, Thomas Carbone? He was the one to bring the boy to all our attention, after all.”

“Dead. Shot him myself.”

“Very well, then. The Demon shall be grateful for your assistance. However, he has also ordered that all intermediaries who have knowledge of Jason Todd’s existence be silenced.”

There was only a split second of shocked silence between the order before muffled gunfire lit up the shadows in a flash that silenced the night before the glasses-wearing man grabbed the docile boy and shoved him into the back of the van, unbothered by the weak attempt at a struggle.

Three bullets. Three kills.

Calmly putting the gun back and away into his grey coat as blood began to pool on the ground before him, he pushed up his glasses before nodding to the unmoving shadows in the background, the boy squirming and trying to choke out sound in the van behind him. 

“Put him to sleep.” He ordered his associate who had been holding the briefcase before slamming the doors shut behind them. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

That had been the last time Jason was in Gotham.

*

_Now…_

While the majority of Gotham’s criminal element tended to be rather showy, Oswald Cobblepot—who was better known as the Penguin—preferred a more quiet approach to accumulating power. 

Quietly organizing Gotham City's criminal gangs, he chose to stay under the radar and rule the streets one crumbling corner at a time. 

Jason admired that, despite his first-hand experience of knowing what a coward the man truly was underneath it all, even if there were other people in Gotham who feared Penguin, intimidated by his supposed power and ruthlessness.

Pulling up to the infamously posh but trendy nightclub in a charcoal black Aston Martin and handing his keys to one of the valets who rushed over to open his car door, Jason Head recognized a few of Gotham’s more golden sons from his previous life as he stepped out with polished oxfords, not that he was worried about any of them recognizing a long-dead adoptee.

The combined teachings of Alfred Pennyworth and Talia al Ghul showed him how to present himself well and seamlessly blend into high society. Billionaire Brucie Wayne, on the other hand...well, his persona just wasn’t one that his younger self was keen on modelling himself after.

As each of the guests entered Penguin’s club with their invitations, they were handed a full-face mask that somewhat reminded Jason of kabuki theatre and their bidding number.

Playing with the mask in his hand for a moment, Jason slipped it on, reminiscing back to when he was twelve and Bruce had funded a feudal Japanese exhibit at the Gotham Metropolitan Museum. It annoyed him that quite a few memories were being stirred up just by being back in the city after so long.

Why couldn't the past just _stay_ buried?

Taking a seat furthest away from the centre and right by the row’s edge, he glanced around as he crossed a leg over the other. There seemed to be around fifty people in attendance, all of whom he knew were in possession of hefty amounts of ‘throwing’ money.

Jason felt his jaw harden as the lights dimmed and brightened three times before an elderly man with a cane came out and stood behind the podium. The lights then all faded until only a single spotlight remained as the man introduced himself and the audience clapped. 

“What a night we have in store for you ladies and gentlemen!” The man’s charismatic voice boomed throughout the ice-themed club which was otherwise closed for the private event, waving his cane around. “Shall we get right into it and begin our bidding?”

Another round of applause resounded as a display case was brought out by an assistant, which soon turned into a murmuring interest as a not quite adult-sized skull was shown to the wealthy audience.

Jason felt that same gravitational pull towards the skull as he had with the mere picture, although this time it was undeniably stronger. 

The general excitement of the room didn’t seem to last for long, however, before a few black canisters rolled into the room with a long hiss and a bang as they exploded into plumes of smoke just as the room was submerged into complete darkness.

As the power shut down throughout the entire Iceberg Lounge to angry shouts and cries, Jason knew exactly what was about to go down in the darkness they were now emerged in, sitting calmly while setting his bidding number onto the ground next to him.

After all, he had once been the one to cut the lights for such entrances. 

He knew that they would all soon become green images against a black background in the night-vision lenses of the masks Batman had taught him to install himself when he was fourteen and the city had been overrun by Deacon Blackfire. 

Standing up with his eyes narrowed in on the skull now being clutched by the confused assistant amidst the panicking cries and sounds of punches being thrown as the security rushed to deal with the intruders, Jason paid no head as he made his way up to the elevated white platform. 

Batman’s brood had really become a dime-a-dozen since he was murdered, Jason mused as he threw a purple hooded girl over his shoulder with a slam and not much care, moving onwards to secure what he had come for. 

Though he could see the colourful form in the corner of his eye busy taking down the club’s bouncers and auction guards, all his anger towards the teen in the uniform was for once forgotten as he remained unnaturally focused on obtaining his skull. 

All the questions and doubts he’d seemed to have disappeared from his mind as he jumped up onto the stage and simply struck one of the attendant’s pressure points and removed the case from his now unmoving hands. 

As the Dark Knight himself appeared out of the smoke, looking every bit like the demon the criminals he hunted chalked him up to being, Jason had already taken the skull in its case, staring at it in wonder.

When the older man had raised his arms into a fighting position, Jason didn’t even wait to snap out of his revere before kicking Batman squarely in the face like he was a penalty kick in soccer. The vigilante’s head snapped back as he fell, leaving Jason to chuckle over his once-father with the now-closed box in hand before he made his disappearing act.

“Some other time, Bruce.”

*

“How foolish of you to make that pet of yours in charge of your former organizations. I had thought I taught you better than that.”

Although the prison lay hundreds of feet below the surface of the main fortress and had been specifically designed to be inescapable, it was quite a lavish room being decorated with fine art and heavy Persian rugs which could be seen through the front-facing glass wall.

However, while being imprisoned in such a manner, functionally on exhibit for their captors, may have been a demeaning moment for any other prisoner, Ra’s al Ghul showed no qualms when his youngest child came to visit.

“He is not a _pet_.” Talia glared coldly at her father who amused himself with a chessboard from behind the partition. “He is my son.”

“He does not share blood with you to be your heir.” Ra’s dropped his amused expression, angered with her emotional attachment to a boy who was once nothing more than an unthinking, emotionless shell.

“I have taken care of him and loved him as my own. In case you had forgotten, Father, it was you who bestowed upon me that honour.” 

Dressed impeccably in an evening green and gold embroidered salwar kameez with matching golden jewellery decorating her body, Talia fully lived up to her reputation as the devastatingly beautiful daughter of the demon.

Except now she had become the Demon herself.

“Although you had wished to have the Detective take your place as the Demon’s Head, and your grandson his successor, they will not see the world as they must.” She went on, victoriously relishing in the infuriated look upon her father’s face while knowing he could do nothing about it.

“And though you may see Jason Todd as brash, reckless and lacking in ambition, in true goals, his purpose remains true. To cleanse the earth of evil. And with proper guidance, he will lead the Leviathan and assist me in rebuilding this world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ra's ain't dead, folks. Sorry.


	5. Digging Up the Past

Talia wasn’t always so ruthless, Jason mused as he quietly slipped into the shadows of her quarters just as she flung blood off her blade with one deft movement, visibly disgusted by the rogue assassin that had broken into her room and now lay on the floor, having slid off her sword’s tip.

While she hadn’t become a whole different character from the empathetic woman he remembered, it was sometimes difficult to see the same person who cared for him while he was catatonic and even then after during some of the worst years of his life, and who had wanted nothing more than to escape from underneath her father’s control.

While she had managed to succeed in her wish of breaking away, taking both him and Damian away to Hong Kong to have a better life, it hadn't lasted long before Lex Luthor came knocking on their door.

And it wasn’t much longer then after that Talia seemed to have been lost after she had been repeatedly broken and forcibly stitched back together over and over again by a woman who claimed to be her ever-loving sister.

Jason had never been happier than when he heard the news that the ‘loving sister’ of hers had been killed in a car bombing, even if that didn’t heal Talia from all her psychological scars.

“I see you’ve returned already.” She greeted, having recognized his presence the moment he’d entered the room.

“Did you really think I’d need the three days you gave me?”

“No. I did not.” Talia allowed a rare, amused smile to slip as she removed a handkerchief from the vanity table to clean her hands from some of the crimson remains, setting the sword down to be cleaned secondarily. 

Though the one green eye not covered by her sweeping dark hair was outwardly cold and steely, there was a spark of warmth to be found deep inside of them that she kept reserved for her two boys. 

“Welcome home, habibi.” She extended her now bloodless hands to embrace him tightly, both of them relaxing into one of the so-few kind touches they received. It wasn’t the first time that it struck Jason that though he may have lost his father, he had gained a mother.

These past few years hadn’t been kind on either of them but they had both managed to return stronger and colder after the world had tried almost everything to break them. Their shared trauma connected them in a way that was difficult for most else to understand, having bonded as prisoners in different ways of the same man.

"Have you looked in on your brother?" She pulled back to question him in reference to the now eleven-year-old Damian.

“I had an operative check in on him while I was in town. He seems to be doing well according to the reports.”

She peered into his eyes carefully before narrowing her own. As they now shared that toxic green colour of the Lazarus waters, it made them seem more physically like the mother and son duo they presented as. 

“I take it you’ve secured what you returned to Gotham for?”

Jason nodded down at the crossbody bag that was slung around him just as two League servants knocked on the door a few times, came into the room, silently headed for the corpse and took it away neatly and efficiently, obviously used to the task. 

Jason himself took out the case that carried the skull and set it down on a table. 

“It’s mine.” He spoke simply as if he had accepted the connection he felt to the bony structure. Talia didn’t argue with his declaration or debate it.

“And what do you plan to do with this skull of yours?”

While Jason had figured this question would be asked and had his response prepared for it, he found himself hesitant to give it. “I want to have it cremated. It’s what I would’ve wanted for the rest of myself.”

“Without knowing if damaging it could hurt you? Don’t be foolish.”

“Well, it’s been rolling around throughout Gotham this entire time without me knowing any different.” Jason pointed out his only recent knowledge of the skull’s existence apart from him.

“Nonetheless, this development creates several new questions for your resurrection.”

“So what, you’re saying the skull can be useful?”

“No, I’m saying that it can be used against you.” Talia crossed her arms as she explained. “‘Tapping the bone.’ It’s one of the oldest forms of occultic practices known to man.”

“Necromancy? Seriously, T?” Jason couldn’t help but scoff sardonically. Not in doubt of sorcery, as he did have mage operatives and grew up meeting people like Zatanna and Raven, but he did not believe that he could be controlled or bound just for being dead at one point.

“You believe that there aren’t people well versed enough in the art in this very compound alone?” The Demon’s Head glared at his naivety. “I am sure that the fact of being murdered both young and violently would also qualify you for certain necromantic rites.”

Jason found himself surprisingly speechless at the blatant mention of his death. While he made cracks about it from time to time, it still bothered him to hear about it like he didn’t have maddening nightmares about it every night.

“So what do _you_ want to do with it?”

“ _We’ll_ have it locked away for the time being. I’ll have some trusted mages look into it, under my direct supervision, of course.”

Jason felt ill-at-ease as a silence grew between them. He knew Talia hadn’t meant to offend him, which is why her tone softened as she dropped her arms, but the discomfort lingered over him at the concerns she brought forth.

“We are both far too entrenched in this madness to put it behind us. At one point in my life, I had grown tired of being a pawn in both my father’s and my beloved’s battle of wits against one another and only wished for peace…but I now realize that it was nothing more than a naive child’s dream.”

She brushed a finger against his cheek caringly. “While I may have become my Father’s successor, I have not become _him_. I am not going to give up on you, Jason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I tried to string this chapter together as best I could, it still feels "blah" to me.


	6. Left Memories of Children

Bats skittered as they returned to their roosts in the upper reaches of the cave, carefully segregated from the more delicate electronics below. Despite Alfred's occasional complaints about the unruly wildlife, Bruce was determined not to evict them from their home. 

They had been here first after all and served as his inspiration from the very beginning of his crusade. He owed them too much to displace them. 

Sitting silently before the glowing blue lights of the computer, bats rustling overhead, the dark circles which haunted his eyes seemed to be more noticeable than usual considering he’d been analyzing the cowl footage without rest in the dim lighting.

_“Some other time, Bruce.”_

He rewinded the green coloured night-vision feed all over again, his face still set in the same apathetic pull of tight features at hearing his identity from an unknown masked man. 

Despite some of the obvious clues such as the expensive suit and shoes, well-groomed hair and general demeanour pointing to the man being of an affluent, wealthy family, there was surprisingly nothing more to go off of name-wise as even an interrogation of other attendees and security cameras left nothing to discover. 

The Mirror House kept no guest lists and Oracle could only do so much with the too few traceable gadgets in the room. Even the voice analysis and recognition on the feed wasn’t working for some reason.

An unnatural gust of wind entered the cave, followed by the flutter of a red cape that Bruce didn’t turn around to greet. 

“I haven’t heard from you since Luthor stepped down as President.” The voice of Superman greeted instead, not sounding bothered at all with being summoned by a silently brooding friend. 

“How’re the kids?”

When the man didn’t answer, although he did exit the screen he seemed to have been scrutinizing, the Man of Steel became curious and wondered if the issue he was called for was a sensitive matter. 

Eyeing the traces of grey that had long infiltrated the dark hair at his temples, Clark watched the back of Bruce’s head with that investigative reporter gleam in his eyes, dropping to the floor from where he was hovering three inches above. 

“Bruce?” 

Turning around in the swivel chair, Bruce’s face seemed to be wrestling with a number of conflicted emotions, his eyes flicking to the illuminated case so prominently on display a few feet away with his jaw tensing.

Clark didn’t follow his line of vision to the glass case, as he began to grow concerned watching the usually ascertain man hesitate in his words before answering.

“I need you to look into Jason’s grave.” 

Clark stared at him in complete shock. He couldn’t have meant that, could he?

“Although I doubt it’s validity considering the security measures I implemented, there was a rumour of his skull having been stolen by the Joker. I’d appreciate it if you could make sure everything is intact.” 

Although Bruce explained himself, it still shook Clark in more ways than with just how politely he asked for the favour.

Jason was an incredibly delicate topic for the Dark Knight and although Clark would admit he never knew his friend’s first adoptive son as well as Dick, the kid had saved his life once and both him and Diana remembered how excited Bruce had been when he took Jason in. 

He also remembered how irrational Bruce had been after Jason was murdered. 

_“I’m here to talk sense into you. But if that doesn’t work…”_

_Batman whirled towards him with a snarl. Even with the thinly lead-lined cowl on and only half of his face exposed, Superman could still see his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace._

_“You’ll what?”_

_Something cold went down Clark’s spine upon hearing the creak of his gloved gauntlet as fingers flexed, the rapid-fire beat of his heart and the deep growl he normally reserved for his most virulent foes be directed at him._

_“Why don’t you just go home.” He calmly tried to talk the man down from starting an international incident, although he normally wouldn’t dream of telling the Batman what to do._

_But Bruce seemed to have become mad in his grief, his pain sharp and deep enough to override his common sense by punching the Man of Steel, as he would have otherwise known full well that he could cripple himself in doing so. Even though Superman rolled with the punch, he knew that the pain would be excruciating for the man._

Hearing that the same psychotic clown who murdered the boy possibly violated his grave as well brought back the same cold feeling in Clark, thinking back to when he had to fish a frantically shouting Batman out of a harbour, yelling at him to find the Joker’s body as the remains of the explosion crackled away behind them, painting the sky with burning reds and oranges.

“Bruce...are you sure you want me to—”

“I can’t dig him up, Clark. I’m not...I’m not strong enough for that.”

Superman bit his tongue before nodding grimly, flying away in a whoosh that scattered a few loose leafed papers that were set on the bat computer desk and leaving Bruce with the repetitive drip of water coming off the cave stalactites.

*

When Superman returned to the batcave only a few minutes later, the unfeeling white lenses of the donned cowl were waiting for him instead, Bruce having apparently put on the costume in tense anticipation. 

While Bruce had been holding back suspicions for quite some time, desperate to not believe something he didn’t even want to think about, Clark’s own face was drawn when he gently broke the news to him that it was completely empty. 

_Out, alas, my child's blood! Out, for reprefe!_

His heartbeat wouldn't slow down. 

He tried to make it, tried to will himself into that calm space where there was only his consciousness, only the sound of his heartbeat in his ear. All his awareness focusing in on that sound, getting slower and slower, counting the beats. _Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight—_

Except his heartbeat wasn't getting any slower, because all he could see was Jason’s face, pale, bloodied and unsmiling in his arms as he held his body, his short life having ended in an explosion that had haunted him ever since. Something Bruce would have done anything to prevent.

It was going up now, his heart rate getting faster and faster, his hand shaking like an alcoholic going through withdrawal. Where the fuck was his detachment? Where was his analytical focus? 

All he could feel was rage exploding through him. Rage at himself for not having been faster. Rage at himself for not killing the Joker after Barbara. The way he needed to be able to so he could protect them. Rage at himself for not being able to keep Jason safe even after death.

“Bruce, you can’t go into that dark place of yours again.”

Watching his reaction carefully and hearing the loud thumping of his heartbeat, the Kryptonian’s message was clear enough to need not spell it out: Don’t exceed the limits. Follow the rules. 

Because deep down, they both knew Batman wasn’t a ‘good’ man. Not naturally, at least. He needed rules in his life because he knew that if he ever allowed himself to act without constraint, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He couldn’t trust himself to do the right thing.

But he could _choose_ to be. He could bury all that hate and rage he had inside of him under _discipline and will_ and force himself to live up to that choice.

He could be flexible enough to allow for certain grey situations, but if he ever got up to _‘that line,’_ then he would know where to stop right away.

“Let me help.” Clark spoke in a near whisper, though his sympathy fell short in Bruce’s ears. What could he understand of his pain? The pain of losing a child that looked to you for love and safety and then failing in such a simple thing they needed of you.

Jason was gone and he had never known any different. 

It was all his fault.

When Batman turned away sharply from Clark, he knew there was nothing more to say. Turning to quietly leave the cave, he left Bruce alone with his dark obsessions—and the ceaseless rustling of the bats. 


	7. With a Wondrously Beating Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes worry that I don't make myself clear with the details of my stories. Bruce doesn't think Jason's alive. He has no basis of evidence for this unlike in UTRH. What he does know for a fact was that Jason's grave had been disturbed and what was possibly his skull had been taken by the Joker.

“The whole thing’s a conspiracy.” 

One of the best researchers on the planet, a slender, paraplegic redhead who watched over the digital realm under the codename ‘Oracle,’ had her face displayed across the Batcave’s main monitors.

Various text files, photos and unplayed recorded audio files occupied peripheral screens and windows that she seemed to be sifting through and sorting in real-time from her own shared screen in the Clocktower. 

“I still haven’t been able to dig up— _er_ , discover anything about the masked man who took the bones at the auction for whatever reason, but I’ll rectify that soon, not to worry.”

“Secondary.” Bruce was back to using his singular word sentences again, which Barbara, knowing the circumstances, didn’t castigate him for. 

She knew from behind her rectangular frames that what he wanted to know was how Jason’s grave had been violated without him knowing despite all the precautions, all the sensors and even having two graves—one in the Wayne family plot and the other next to Catherine, secluded from public knowledge. 

It was why he sat before a workbench with which an empty, wide-open coffin was being thoroughly examined under bright lights, unearthed in the dead of the night to keep under the radar from watchful eyes. 

“Well, there’s still a conspiracy to be had, nonetheless. While I’ve confirmed that the Joker was the original thief even without your...interrogation techniques, things get even stranger after that.”

Bruce switched to an ultraviolet light setting, the purple glow highlighting his three-day stubble. His rage hadn’t diminished in the slightest over the course of time, and his obsessive nature had been alone in keeping himself awake and prowling. 

“I’ve gone through tons of CCTV footage around the dated timeframe but most, if not all, had already been wiped. There had also been multiple unexplained disappearances around the vicinity of people from gravediggers, to cops, nurses, doctors and even a few of the homeless population that went unofficially reported.”

“Had any of them later turned up?” This caught Bruce’s attention as he looked up, his expression dark.

“Sure. Dead.” She replied, sounding not unlike a tour guide as she took off her glasses to tiredly rub at her eyes before wiping her glasses with a lens cloth and placing them back on the bridge of her nose.

“It wasn’t a simple clean-up job either. Anyone capable of pulling something like this off would need both a substantial amount of resources and reach. I’ve already pulled up a list of suspects who would be able to fit the billing.”

_"Can we begin?”_

_A rumpled silk dressing gown was draped over the billionaire’s slumped shoulders as he sat in front of the set-up camera and the caseworker who held his pen, poised to write notes._

_“What would you like to talk about?” He slumped further into the armchair beside the crackling fire._

_It was cold that evening and the Manor felt emptier than it’s ever felt without **him**. _

_“I want to talk to you about what went wrong with Jason Todd.”_

_“I’m sure you already know.” Grief-stricken cries tear at his chest and throat, wanting to leap free—but he won’t let that happen._

_He can’t._

_Or he will not stop._

“Bruce?” Barbara’s voice interrupted his flashback, waiting for his thoughts on the rather short suspect list she had drawn up for him.

“It’s never been here.”

“What?” She questioned his growled statement, her tone tilting upwards in a query.

“There’s never been a body in this coffin.”

“What are you saying, Bruce? That they managed to replace the coffin as well?” Barbara sounded properly horrified by the prospect of how much had happened right underneath their noses.

“Same artist, design and sensors. It’s flawless.”

Bruce had near completely dismantled the fine woodwork in his hunt for evidence or clues, the workbench a mess of cushioned padding, scraps and alarm wiring. 

“—of course you wouldn’t, Drake. That’s because you're a fool.” The voice of the latest child to start living in the Manor descended further into the cave from the stone stairwell that led from the clock.

“And you’re a demon brat who can’t even understand basic human decency.” Tim shot back, the two having been fighting bitterly all day, as they did every day.

However, both their arguing voices were immediately silenced upon witnessing the sight they walked in on.

For the first time in a really long time, Tim actually looked stunned. Though he knew the who and why of the coffin’s unearthing since he had been briefed three days ago on the matter, he still stared at the sight, seemingly speechless and forgetting about his current fight with Damian.

The younger boy had a completely different expression on, however, which was blank as his eyes began to narrow into a glare towards the dismantled box, knowing a little more than the other occupants in the room, not that he could divulge any of it.

“It seems we need to pay a visit to the League,” Batman spoke, though he wore no cowl then, a wave of hot anger rising up within him. 

*

Ra’s al Ghul had an abiding sense of soreness beneath the sternum, which was increased by his frequent dry coughing, an act of which gave him an aggravation of this sensation. 

It wasn’t his first time feeling the wretched symptoms of death and old age creeping upon him in his many patient centuries walking upon the earth and influencing its changes and paths. 

It was during these years that he would have sired his two daughters, the first of which having been the one to imprison him just as he had done unto her in the camps of the second world war, though after her death, his youngest child had moved him to the secure location he was in currently.

She was always much too soft-hearted to be a real demon.

Though she had earned his pride after ruthlessly taking full control of the League in a matter of weeks, which had undergone a series of leaders after him, she had never completely taken up his ambitions, disenchanted with the idea of genocide to cleanse the Earth and instead choosing to merely take control or replace pieces already on the board. 

“Master.” A young voice entered from the dark of the unlit corridor. 

“What news do you have, Ubu?” He inquired in a voice that was clearly aged, racked with coughs and spasms, shaken, but with a ragged air of absolute authority and cold command that would always be submitted to. 

Although all of the line of Ubu had been eradicated due to their unfailing loyalty towards him, and thus distrustful to his daughter’s rule, one boy had managed to live and now served him as was expected of his family’s lineage. 

It was a true shame that his own children could never realize that the shadows would never fully be theirs since they would always belong to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ra's: [slowly dying in the basement.]  
> Talia: [drinking tea contently with her son.]


	8. The Living End Still Comes

There was utter nothingness and he was falling right into the heart of it. 

Terror gripped his heart. Wild, unreasonable terror flashing through every nerve ending. He fell and fell through nothing, total nothing, with nothing to stop him, nothing to reach for or hold on to, nothing to keep him from hurtling forever through this nightmare of absolute emptiness.

As he fell, even as he fell, he felt as if he were being crushed and suffocated by the unending night. Somehow, the blackness was a living thing, closing on him, devouring him with malice, with relish.

It felt familiar to Jason, the darkness that was not just darkness. It was as if it had been something that was lifted straight out of his mind and thoughts and was eating him alive.

So down and down and down he went. The agony, the terror, the whirling rush to his second death—there was no stopping it. 

Never in his life had Jason felt so helpless, so hopeless, and so afraid, not even in that warehouse. The rush, the blackness, the living evil. Falling into _nothing, nothing, nothing!_

When Jason opened his eyes, he found the darkness gone and snow all around him in a scene that appeared to be just outside of the Himalayan League compound, thin drifts of snow blowing against his face.

As the melt never made it to the top of the mountains, it seemed to always be winter, he mused as he felt the snow build up on him. 

Attempting to get up, Jason was suddenly horrified to realize that his body was like lead, completely paralyzed as he was hardly able to move his eyes either.

His face muscles tried to contort themselves to reflect the silent distress he felt as the sound of dragging footsteps crunched through the snow, coming closer and closer to him before a pair of green boots stopped right in front of him, crouching down to meet his line of sight.

_“What a waste of time.”_

Scraps of his Robin uniform hung off the burnt skin and a rib cage that opened like a birdcage, the stench of death and decay coming from the figure. Chains were attached around its wrists and ankles, linking together like cuffs.

Jason’s breath hitched, a terrible gurgling noise coming out as though he wanted to scream but couldn’t force it out as he took in the skull that was the figure’s head. It’s ‘eyes’ were dark voids like a grim, black quicksand that there was no escape from, dragging you further down and down.

_“Don't do this again. You're irritating me.”_

*  
Jason started awake.

He was getting rather tired of the seemingly ceaseless nightmares that disturbed his already fitful bouts of sleep. 

Deciding to just remain laying in his bed for a while, he folded his arms behind his neck and strained his ears to listen for any sound beyond the guards that kept watch over the night. 

It was an old habit of his that he’d never had reason to break. As a child, he’d sit in the dark and listen to the sounds of his mother breathing to make sure that she wouldn’t slip off into a never-ending sleep and then later still at the Manor when he wasn’t on patrol with Batman, he’d wait up to listen for any sound at all that would tell him Bruce made it back home alive.

When he had been re-captured by the League after his first attempt to escape, sometime after Talia had thrown him in the Pit, he still lay awake at night hoping that one day Batman would burst through the doors, take down Ra's and everyone in the compound before bringing him back home, far from the League and the experiments and the torture and the constant fighting for survival.

At some point, he gave that dream.

Jason finally decided to get up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at his face tiredly, knowing he looked as dead and he felt.

_What does one do with a life when one had expected to be dead?_

Thinking about the skull locked away and under guard, he couldn’t help but cradle his own head in his hands and wonder what this would all mean for him. For his resurrection.

He never asked for any of this. He should have just stayed six feet under and never have gone through all the effort of climbing out, allowing the oxygen to diminish and dying of asphyxiation all over again. 

It would have been so much easier.

Getting up in an attempt to walk off his ‘funk,’ Jason headed out to the gardens within the compound. The outer section of the secluded garden was eerily quiet, untouched by the violence just beyond the wall where the many ‘ghuls’ trained to hone their lethal skills. 

It was a private sanctum of miniature landscapes and stones, divided into a geometric masterpiece with running water flowing through narrow canals, implying the passage or flow of time. Ra’s could be poetic like that.

By the time he could hear the rippling of water as a carp broke the surface of the pond before disappearing again into the black depths, Jason found himself with company in the garden.

Standing beside a rose bush and looking up at the night sky, Talia’s eyes were seemingly lost in the glaze of unpleasant memories and psychological torture, which is how Jason knew she had been woken by nightmares of her own.

The once-forgotten instincts of needing to take care of his own caretakers came back as he needed to cough to announce himself.

“Please tell me you’re not hankering after Bruce again,” he joked in an attempt to lighten the mood for the both of them.

“What else are we here for if not to have an unreasonable passion for things?” She replied absently before meeting his eyes.

Her own eyes were lined with kohl and she was casually holding a red lip marked cigarette, a rebellious habit she picked up as a teen to spite her father. When Jason held out for one of his own, she offered him one along with her lighter. 

As they stood there together, the wind carrying the smoke away from them, Jason couldn’t help but laugh to Talia’s curiosity, who turned her head to gaze inquisitively towards him. 

“Remember how disgusted Damian used to be when we would smoke together in Hong Kong? ‘That is a revolting habit, akhi.’” He tilted his tone upwards to make fun of Damian’s speech. 

Talia hummed her own laugh in remembrance. While they hadn’t all lived together for more than a year before Talia left for Metropolis and had Jason and Damian stay in their Hong Kong home, it was still a fond memory for them to think back on. 

“I was thinking of sending you to Markovia within the week.” Talia brought their conversation to business, exhaling cigarette smoke. 

“Didn’t you already buy out most of the country?”

“We are the midst of finalizing our control. I need you to have Leviathan dismantle the remaining opposition in the government and replace them with our own.”

“Easy enough.” 

Talia gave him an unimpressed look for underestimating potential problems. 

“Just sayin'—.” He shrugged, gesturing to himself with a bright robin grin and cocky laugh that had one side of Talia’s mouth turn upwards, amusement clearly visible in her own expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a 'nice' little calm-before-the-storm chapter.


	9. Keep Yourself Steady

Jumping out of the lightweight cloaked batwing from a high-altitude exit point was something that Batman taught early on in each of his protégés careers, not that they still didn’t find it disconcerting to stand on wait while the aircraft swept in and around mountains in the dead of night.

Most of the bat family had been mobilized for the stealth mission to the Himalayas with the exception of Cassandra, Stephanie and Barbara, who were holding the fort down back in Gotham. 

As the batwing approached the jump area, the powerful, efficient rotary thrusters having taken them to their destination well out of sight of radar and laser detection, each of the costumed vigilantes got into position.

Damian, however, who had been instructed to only stay in the aircraft despite having argued to join the mission, looked hesitant the whole while which Bruce assumed to be due to his mother and grandfather’s involvement. 

While it had appeared that his youngest son had also known more particulars than he shared, Batman hadn’t interrogated the child about his knowledge after a stern lecture in warning from Alfred. 

Nightwing and Robin each hooked their static line onto the heavy wire that trailed along the ceiling of the plane, and then draped the lines over their shoulders, Batman following the action though they would each fall and land separately into the compound.

As the first jumper, Tim crouched in the open doorway and stretched one foot outside onto a metal step, just as he had been trained. Waiting for the pat on the shoulder from Dick, he simply propelled down and jumped the rest of the way, his black cape catching the wind.

When Batman himself leapt last, once again letting his cape spread wide, encouraging the air to rush under it and push him up, enabling him to glide over the darkened League fortress and past the guard towers, he rolled onto the roof as he began to lose his flight speed.

The twinkling of the lit torches were highlighted by the reflection of the snow and surrounding glaciers as he used the cover of the shadows to slip into the fortress undetected. 

The goals of the mission were simple: either find and retrieve evidence of the stolen body or get answers personally through a show of force if necessary. 

The one guard he managed to run into without the option of simply staying out of sight, he had already sidestepped around and delivered a devastating blow to the back of his head which would keep him down and quiet for a few hours.

Entering into some sort of operations room that overviewed what appeared to be a training room, the overhead red lights were kept dim to increase the visibility of the various screens and graphic displays. 

A backlit table map projected a number of potential behavioural patterns and doctor’s notes that seemed to commonly refer to a patient with autistic effects due to brain damage. Though it wasn’t what he was specifically looking for, Batman found himself oddly drawn to the files, scanning them in the low crimson lighting. 

“Turn around.” A deep voice came up behind him, making his muscles tense up. 

As Batman did what was told, he felt as though he could barely breathe at all once he laid eyes on the person, his white cowl lenses staring at the boy—no, man—so struck with shock that he could barely think. 

He felt as though he was in some sort of mad disorientation, having expected to find a corpse and not... _alive_.

“—J-jason...?”

“Yeah, I’m alive. Very unfortunate for you.” 

“It can’t be...you’re...dead.”

There was an unexpected rush of joy felt in the man at seeing Jason alive and at such an age but also tremendous anger at having such a thing taken from him, his eyes not even registering the gun being pointed at his face.

“I was. It just didn't stick.” Keeping the gun trained on his former adoptive father, Jason's eyes were completely cold, his tone frosty and without much emotion to speak of.

The younger man watched as a cycle of various emotions filtered through Batman's cowl before he slowly settled on the one he knew he would: _doubt_. 

The Bruce he knew and who raised him was a man of science, logic, and nothing Jason could say or do could ever hope to measure up to a series of DNA tests. Not that he really cared about ‘proving his authenticity’ to the man.

“What are you, a clone?”

Batman had to twist his tongue to keep the steel-edged growl up and keep himself from wanting to apologize. Jason used to always brace himself when he took that tone with him, like he expected Bruce to hit him the moment he acted out.

But he couldn’t afford that hope—afford that grief again if this wasn’t Jason. Because even though the age was wrong, the eye-colour, the build, he still had those curls and his nose and his accent...

Jason laughs.

It’s not the same laugh the curly-haired boy used to make when he slid down the dinosaur’s tail in the cave, but it’s...familiar to Bruce. Familiar enough to make him crumble, his shoulders caving in and all traces of stoicism suddenly leaving his face.

“No, I’m not a clone, or a ghost, or a hallucination or whatever you want to use to explain my standing here. I’m real and I’m alive.”

“The skull...?” Having finally pulled down his cowl which left them equally unmasked and face-to-face, Bruce’s voice had become shaky as he kept staring and taking in Jason’s face like it was the first time he had ever seen him.

“Yeah, we’re still trying to figure that one out here.” Jason shrugged nonchalantly.

“How...Jason, I—” Bruce didn’t seem to know what to say or do, he just kept his gaze on him, not daring to look away in case he never saw he really did turn out to be a ghost or hallucination and disappear on him. 

He started to reach out for him but then jerked back himself as if he was wrestling with his own mind on how sane he was. It occurred to him that what he was feeling was the onsets of a panic attack coming on.

Jason took the opportunity to roll his eyes and throw the gun at him, which was really only a distraction for him to round-house the startled Bruce through the glass and a floor below onto the padded flooring of the training room, where he jumped down as well with a tucked roll.

Shifting into a fighting stance—left foot forward with his left arm extended, keeping his right arm close to his body and both arms up, fists protecting his chin, Jason’s grin was sharp and taunting.

“I don't want to fight you, son.” Bruce raised his hands in a peace-keeping gesture, his voice rough as he was still reeling with seeing Jason’s face, whether he was real or not.

“I don't see how you have much of a choice in the matter.” Jason’s sneer was not just to be found in his tone but also his body language.

Batman was forced to hold up his arms to protect his face as Jason moved in quickly, pummeling Batman with a series of hard jabs of which only half could be deflected.

Bruce was forced to fight back eventually and a strike with the heel of his palm connected with Jason’s nose and made for a cracking sound, followed by the trickle of warm blood. 

Regret was immediately evident in the Knight’s eyes.

Jason looked paused for a moment before he reached up to wipe the blood with the back of his hand, a slow smile growing from behind as he slid it across his face, finally revealing a victorious grin and long, red smear across his cheek. 

“You shouldn’t have come here, old man. Not now. Not after all these years.” Though he still spoke in what could be considered an uncaringly callous tone, something in the younger man’s eyes were complicated and in pain.

“Years?” Bruce was starting to look sick and weak on his feet.

“Yeah,” Jason chuckled like it was the most amusing thing. “I've been alive for _years_ and you never even knew.”

“Why didn't you come home?”

“ _Why didn’t I?_ You think I wouldn't have if I could?” Jason gritted his teeth, an enraged green creeping in his eyes. “Anyone who ever knew about my existence was killed. Every time I tried escaping, Ra’s would send a whole squad of assassins to hunt me down and drag me back.”

Shutting his eyes tightly while turning his head away for a moment to collect himself, Jason exhaled slowly before continuing.

“This one time, though...” he shook a finger while huffing a laugh. “I managed to get away from them. Got all the way to France. Booked myself into a hotel for the night anonymously and looked you up online. Just to see how you were.”

Bruce’s heart is still beating out of his chest, unbelieving at what he’s hearing and seeing. So he blinks, quickly, just in case this still might be some elaborate hallucination and also because of the water building up.

“I searched for ‘Batman’ first. Got a whole bunch of articles about how you had just recently put the Joker back in Arkham. _Again_. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to. So I looked up Bruce Wayne next…” Jason let out another slow exhale. “Read about a kid named Timothy Drake who had come to live with him. Read about a new Robin on the streets.”

“I didn’t put up a fight when Ra’s men found me that time. I didn’t put up a fight ever again.”

Jason makes a wide-armed gesture as a single tear slipped from him. This is all his younger self wanted while imprisoned here. To see his father again. And there he was, right in front of him. But he had already become a different person by this time.

“Jay, _son_ —” Bruce was crying now. “Let me fight now. Let me take you back _home_. Let me _fix_ this.”

“It’s too late for that.” Jason flicked off the tear, his face blank again. “You’ll find that I've got aspirations bigger than just handling street crime these days, pops.”

It was then that several large explosions went off throughout the compound, the blasts rocking the ground enough to throw them off balance and have the roof come crashing down on their heads, a loud white silence ringing throughout the scene.


	10. In One Night All Shall Fall

The series of explosions reverberated throughout the chain of mountains around the hidden compound, booming until Jason’s ears rang painfully.

Squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to try soothing the stabbing pain caused by the bright light from the unexpected explosion, Jason struggled to move as he found a heavy weight atop of him, covering him from most of the onslaught of debris.

“Get off of me.” He barked at the uncowled Batman, intermixed with a few coughs to clear his throat when he inhaled the fine dust coming off the surrounding giant chunks of ceiling. 

Pushing the man off of him, he waited to hear the sounds of anyone else invading the fortress. Or gunfire. Or more C-4. Instead, he only heard the sizzle of fire and the crackling flames in the aftermath of the explosion.

“Who else did you bring with you?” Jason glared at Bruce, who was just starting to rise himself. However, when he didn’t answer right away, irritation took over. “Tch. I’ll just find out myself.”

Moving in order to stand and leave to find Talia, Jason found himself locked in place when Bruce grabbed at his arm, the older man’s chest heaving with panicked fear and adrenaline.

“ _Wait_.”

“I already did.” Jason shook off his squeezing grip, not caring about whatever traumatic memory Bruce was dealing with. Not when he didn’t know whether Talia was safe or if there was another attack on the compound.

Running out of the training room doors and down halls to make it outside to the central courtyard of the hundreds of years old stone-walled structure, the flames had all but nearly been extinguished, only smoke now lingering in the air. 

“Tals.” 

Jason breathed out a small cloud in relief upon seeing the woman standing in the cold night air of the courtyard against the backdrop of the snow-capped mountains that flanked the fortress and surrounded by her man-bat footsoldiers.

She was dressed in her black catsuit and clearly expecting a fight but in that moment she was fussing in Urdu over Damian’s hair, smoothing it down to the boy’s embarrassment. 

Held by the legion of man-bats were the other two vigilantes that Batman seemed to have brought along on this little excursion of his, Jason noted while otherwise completely ignoring their presence as he made his way over to Talia and Damian.

“. _..Jason..._?” Nightwing’s voice was disbelieving upon noticing his entry, not that Jason paid it any heed. The pretender seemed to have been knocked out for the time being as he stood slumped over with his arms being held by two man-bats as well.

“What were those explosions, Talia?” He asked the Demon’s Head when she looked up at him with suspicion-narrowed eyes of her own. 

“Nothing good, we can be certain of that.” She stood to her full length, one hand still in Damian’s hair as she took in the location from which the main smoke columns seem to rise from.

Turning his gaze down to nod in greeting, Jason allowed one of his first smiles in a while to slip upon seeing his younger brother again in person. “Dami.”

“Akhi.” Damian seemed equally pleased but hid it behind his usual mask of superior stoicism. Talia simply seemed content to have both her sons together again, even if she were waiting for a report of the origin of the bombings.

The piercingly cold night sky that curved overhead which was normally filled with clearly visible bright stars was murky and still filled with smoke coming off of the various towers. The batwing was also visible having landed off to the side, with its bay door open in waiting. 

“What have you done, Talia?” Batman angrily interrupted the reunited moment as he finally seemed to shake out of his stupor enough to join them in the courtyard, causing her to look down coldly upon him. 

Nightwing still seemed shocked as his eyes went back and forth between all the gathered individuals, particularly the thought-to-be-dead Jason, whom he analysed with a special focus.

“Nothing I need answer to _you_ for, beloved.” 

The two’s eyes met in a match of fixed intensity between the Dark Knight and the Demon’s Head, Batman not needing a verbal response in that moment — only another glare behind white lenses while Talia’s mouth was set in a thin line. 

Suddenly a loud screeching sound was heard in Jason’s head, the disharmonious notes rising in decibels until the sound grated in his head like nails down a chalkboard.

“Akhi?” Damian was the first to reach out to him as he started to sway, if only for the fact of him being the nearest in proximity.

It felt like a wrench had been tightened against his skull, not allowing him to hear anything, not even the rotational noise of incoming helicopter blades, except for one person’s voice as he gripped his skull and sagged into himself, sinking to his knees in pain. Jason’s skin blanched to the grey of a corpse and his eyes rolled back to show far too much white. 

“ _Detective!_ ” A deep voice intruded on the moment, coming out of the smoke and crackling embers.

The group all turned to see a now free Ra’s al Ghul approaching them, accompanied by a young Ubu child carrying the box Jason had locked the skull up in and a helicopter landing down behind them, its rotors stirring up the already loose powdery snow. 

“Father?” Talia sounded as if she was greatly thrown off balance by his escape, the man-bat soldiers screeching at his entry as well which seemed to have started rousing Tim who tugged at the arms holding him.

Jason felt strangely disconnected from the scene, his eyes’ focus going in and out, making the night around him seem both crystal clear despite the darkness and almost too chaotic to perceive. 

After he had been retrieved following his dunk in the alchemic waters of the Lazarus Pit, he had seldom seen Ra's al Ghul in person during the following years and at times wondered if the elusive immortal even lived in the compound. 

Sometimes though, Ra's appeared on his raised platform, or on the balcony overlooking the glacier and watched with his hands hidden in his sleeves. He never spoke, nor made any kind of sound at all, but his presence was always palpable. Talia had always quickly shuffled him away when he watched him for too long.

“I see you’ve discovered our secret.” The original Demon’s Head had to shout to be heard over the helicopter's spinning rotors, the snow still whipping around the courtyard. 

_Guess Talia was right._ Jason’s thought process was addled, cutting his face with hard lines of concentration as he felt an unnatural essence raked at his mind like icy claws, trying to sink under his skin and into his mind. 

_“No, I’m saying that it can be used against you.” She crossed her arms as she explained what she was trying to get at. “‘Tapping the bone.’ It’s one of the oldest forms of occultic practices known to man.”_

And now one of the worst people imaginable had his skull in their hands, having used the opportunity the bats provided to escape his confines and prove that the skull could be used to control him, evidently bringing him down to his knees.

He could hear Ra’s patronizingly congratulate Talia on her successes as the Demon’s Head, all the while knowing that she would be hesitating from action due to his essentially holding Jason in his grasp.

He could also hear Batman and Nightwing shouting as well about something like what they had done to him but that all just sounded like background white noise to him in comparison to the voice of the centuries-old man.

Jason’s pulse started to beat double-time as he pushed Damian off from touching his arm, which was a shame considering how the younger boy never initiated physical contact for any reason other than combat.

But he currently had other things to deal with. 

_“You know what you have to do.”_

It wasn’t Ra’s voice in his head this time but the half-burnt, half-skeleton nightmare version of himself which spoke in that eerie, not-really-there tone of his.

It trailed a blooded, nailless finger towards its own chest before settling on and pointing towards the remains of the Robin symbol, which lay over it’s non-existent heart.

_“Do it.”_

Thinking of Ben Turner and how he had been conditioned for years to work for the League unwillingly, Jason knew he didn’t want the same. Could not be the same, feeling the grip of Ra’s control fog over his own free will. 

Looking up into the terrifyingly dark voids of the skull’s eye sockets that no one else could see but him, Jason felt a moment of clarity come over him for a few seconds that he took advantage of by reaching down for the dagger strapped to the leg of his League uniform.

He didn’t know who had been the one to scream when he drove the blade deep into his own neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satisfactory endings? What are those? 
> 
> I actually just stared at my drafts doc for a week with this chapter. I had no idea what to write for it, which is why it took me way longer than usual to update, sorry.
> 
> I've added another chapter to be written, which will serve as an epilogue to finish off this cliff-hanger, so bear with me, please.


	11. Epilogue

Jason wondered if he were having a recurring dream because the scenery was the exact same as his earlier nightmare.

As snow blew against his face, he used a hand to brush the flakes off and used the other to prop himself up from behind into a sitting position to find that there had been a decent amount of build-up to shake off from his clothes. 

Still in his seated position, Jason looked upwards beyond the cliff face to see that he had either been pushed or thrown off of the surrounding mountains just beyond the League compound.

He wondered if Ra’s had been successful in his attempt at a takeover considering this fact.

Turning his head to look at the ground he had been lying on, the young adult carefully touched his neck upon seeing the large red stain contrasting so severely with the pure white snow.

The top half of his uniform was also stained red with the blood that should have been coming from his neck wound. 

And yet there was no wound. 

_Ah. I understand now._

The ground surrounding him was littered with other skeletons and not quite yet fully decayed bodies of ghuls who had either failed or betrayed—the bottom of the cliff being the usual place corpses were dumped for such reasons.

Standing up with unsteady legs, Jason walked over to the object that caught his eye, having apparently been thrown over with him. 

Taking his skull in hand, he brought it over to the cliff face and smashed it repeatedly over and over again until it was nothing more than some small bone fragments littering and fading away into the deep piles of snow against the bottom of the mountains. 

_— for those who smile as they drown and laugh as they fall, who are we to define tragedy, after all?_

Everything was fine. His identity may have been outed but none of the so-called detectives caught wind of his real operations such as Leviathan. 

It was fine. 

It was business as usual. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I? Now and then long ago I came for a few seconds quite close to ME, to ME, to ME. 
> 
> But the moment I caught sight of ME I lost ME - there was only a hole through which I fell like Alice. [-Tomas Tranströmer.]


End file.
